


Maybe Wishing On Stars Works

by ThoughtfulMess



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Birthday, Childhood Friends, Class Differences, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Canon, The Shire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28665549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoughtfulMess/pseuds/ThoughtfulMess
Summary: Sam's perspective on Frodo, his future, and what he wishes for most. Pre Quest, Bag-End, the Shire, and first kisses abounding.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Maybe Wishing On Stars Works

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy and also have a nice day :) let me know of any errors or any con-crit that you'd like to give, down in the comments. thanks!

As a sort of spur of the moment decision, Frodo sprinkled powdered sugar over the still-warm-to-the-touch cake that he had made. He’d be damned if it wasn’t the hottest day of summer yet, he thought, wiping his brow with the edge of his sleeve. Though at the very least, the cake looked nice, unaffected by the stifling heat both within the homely kitchen and out. Taking a break, Frodo walked toward the circular window and flung it open, sticking his head out to try to catch a breath of wind that might pass. In his peripheral, he could see his loyal gardener, Sam, who had worked years and years at the Bag-End residence, first apprenticed by his father, and now capable and old enough to work alone, tending to the flowers surrounding the fence. 

Frodo smiled a little to himself, watching Sam gently scoop up a butterfly that had gotten tangled in some weeds, and let it free. 

“Sam!” he called out. 

Immediately, Sam bounded towards the voice. “Aye, Mister Frodo, sumthin’ I can do?”

“No, no,” Frodo rushed to explain. “I’m alright. I was wondering how  _ you _ are faring, on this sweltering day. You must be itching for some water, at the very least, by now.”

“You could say that, surely, Mister Frodo, It’d do me well to take a breather, rest me weary limbs, or sumthin’ of the like, I daresay.”

“Good, give me a minute, Sam,” Frodo said smirking, casting a glance back at the cake, and the few party guests scattered behind different furniture, lying in wait. Frodo waved to Sam noncommittally, and rushed to put candles on the cake and indicate to everyone that Sam was about to walk in through the door. A click resounded through the house, and everyone held their breath. 

“Happy Birthday, Sam!” they all chorused in unison, everyone from Sam’s younger sisters to Pippin Took, Frodo’s cousin. Sam stood there at the threshold, utterly surprised. He looked over to where Frodo was standing to seek reassurance, and Frodo nodded. “Yes, Sam, Happy Birthday,” he reiterated in a gentler tone. “Come inside, come inside, there’s cake and drink and party guests to welcome.” 

Understanding dawning, Sam smiled broadly and shook his head at Frodo. “All this, for me? Mister Frodo, you shouldn’t have. I'd've done just as well with a simple ‘Happy Birthday, Sam’ from you at the end of the day, and a ‘how de do’ on the next. A simple hobbit I am, no need to make such a fuss for your old Sam, nossir.” 

“Aw, Sam, now don’t you go on thinking such things. A cake and a party amongst friends is what you deserve, therefore a cake and party you shall have!” And with that, he threw his arm around the shoulders of his best friend, and led him into the kitchen, where the aforementioned and fully decorated cake stood. As the traditional birthday song started up, Sam’s eyes welled a bit with tears from the kindness and joy of his dear friends. His own father would never have allowed such a big display from his employer, always calling it improper-like and telling his son to “Remember your station, Samwise Gamgee, don’t go getting a big head, now”, but at this moment, Sam couldn’t care less for the impropriety, he merely flushed and grinned at everyone. 

Sure, his Mister Frodo wouldn’t be cruel towards Sam if he acted outside of his class, in fact, Sam had never seen Frodo act ill towards anyone poorer or worse off than he. Frodo was an upstanding and wise hobbit, and that was simply a fact, thought Sam. As the dusk settled outside, the sun finally sinking beneath the green and lush hills of the Shire, Sam couldn’t help but notice how the fading rays of sun caught Frodo’s hair in a ring of light, making him look such like one of the elves that he had always heard about as a young hobbit-lad, the elves made of beauty and strength and pillars of eternal goodness. “ _ If I was but a painter”  _ thought Sam to himself, “ _ I’d paint him a thousand times over.”  _

Suddenly he was nudged in the side by an elbow. Pippin, the youngest and the most eager of the hobbits there, was shaking with anticipation. “C’mon Sam!” he exclaimed. “Blow out the candles, now, make a wish!” 

“Alright, alright,” Sam leaned in towards the cake, but not before making eye contact with Frodo, whose eyes shone with fondness. A warmth spread through his chest, then, and suddenly he knew. “ _ I wish that it could be like this forever, him and me, nothing and nobody betwixt”  _ he wished silently as he blew out the little flames. A cheer rose up around him and suddenly everyone started bustling about, collecting chairs and plates and silverware. But all Sam could do was stand there, a blush high on his cheeks and a little twinge of embarrassment in the back of his mind. Who was he to think such a thing about Mister Frodo? Nay, Frodo would never think to spend the rest of his days with Samwise Gamgee, his gardener. He’d find some swell hobbit-lass one day and he’d settle down with a bustle of kids, and they’d run through the halls of Bag-End trailing mud and ribbons, and Sam would be nothing but the old hobbit with the aching joints who took care of Frodo’s garden patch and roses and violets, who would scoop up the kids and teach them about worms and beetles, and he would never be anything more than a kindly sort of uncle to Frodo and his family. Sam wasn’t meant to be in the picture, he knew, he was just the hobbit with dirt under his nails and flower petals on his boots. And that could and would be it, he steeled himself. Nothing more, nothing less, and everything that you deserve, Samwise, he finished with exclamation in his mind. 

“Come Sam,” a hand was placed on his shoulder. “It’s a clear night, the stars are out, shining and sparkling to wish you a Happy Birthday as well. Come, the guests will be just fine, we shan’t be gone long I reckon.” 

“Alright Mister Frodo,” he whispered, scrambling to keep up with him, who was already making his way outside. A sense of melancholia pervaded his thoughts, though, as he knew this night was quickly coming to a close, and then, simply, business as usual. The summer heat that thrilled in one’s marrow, and enraptured the senses, causing all activities to feel laced with magic and enchantment, would fade, and the chill winds of autumn would blow through, once more settling and sobering everyone.

Walking down the hill a bit, they flopped down onto the long and soft grasses. “Look Sam,” Frodo cried, pointing skyward. “Look, they’re beautiful!”

“And so they are” Sam replied, looking not at the twinkling stars, but at Frodo himself. “Just like you said.” 

They both were lying languid together side by side, shoulders touching, elbows brushing. Sam couldn’t tell for how long, for the evening seemed to be spread out against the sky, and time seemed to be stilted between each one of his heartbeats. 

“Sam,” a gentle voice came. And then movement, Frodo turning on his side to face him. “Sam, you know, Bilbo and your father may have been on business relations only, and tentative friends if necessary, but we two, we’ve always been friends. Best friends, I’d say. Friends still, when you were but a wee thing playing in my uncle’s garden, brandishing sticks and playing knight, and now, too, with us both older and more inclined to sit for tea rather than chase fireflies. Sam, if there is one thing I know, is that I need you in my life. You simply mean too much to me. I don’t know if it’s selfish, but I’d prefer you here, within the dusty halls of Bag-End, me baking or washing up, and you sitting near the hearth warm and contented, with a cup of tea, than anywhere else. I’m sorry Sam,” he finished awkwardly turning his head away and settling back down after his outburst. “I...well, if I had one wish, it would be that, Sam. Just you and me, nothing and nobody to stop us, till the end of our days.”

“I-” Sam started. “You mean it, sir? All the bits and bobs, the withertos and whyfores, and the, begging your pardon, the part where you wish us two, to, to, be together?”

“I do mean it, yes, probably more than I should.” Frodo said, a note of longing in his voice and his gaze firmly affixed to the skies. “I’m sorry, Sam, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I guess the root of the matter is that I love you.”

“You, erm, you love  _ me? _ ” 

“Yes, I, I apologize. The night and the air have loosened my tongue, I didn’t mean to spoil your birthday. Please, forget I said anything.”

“Forget?” Sam repeated passionately. “I’d be a poor excuse for a hobbit to forget such a thing, a thing like this ‘specially, tis a gift, I reckon, to fall straight into my hands, and on my birthday, too! Nay, Frodo, it wouldn’t do to forget, when I’ve been feeling something similar-like for nigh on how many years. Frodo, I love you, and that's the right honest truth.”

And then a wide smile broke out on Frodo’s face, and a quiet chuckle let loose. “Oh Sam, dear Sam.” 

With that, Sam took his shaking fingers and tilted Frodo’s chin. A moment's pause, breath baited, and a following nod, and Sam proved bolder than he had ever been and kissed Frodo. When they broke apart finally, faces still near enough to touch, and the stars ever twinkling overhead, Sam laughed in joy. Laughing with him, Frodo dropped his head to Sam’s broad shoulder. 

“Happy Birthday, Sam.” he whispered, utterly content. 


End file.
